


Thunder and Fireplaces

by Yombatable



Series: Rare-pair Fics of Varying Quality [10]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, just utter fluff, that's all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yombatable/pseuds/Yombatable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wales loved moments like this, when he was allowed to just spend time with England with no obligations or worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder and Fireplaces

**Author's Note:**

> So EngWal is a thing. A cute thing. A cute thing which I've FINALLY gotten around to writing something for. Unproofed and unedited because I'm lazy and I just want to upload this.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

It was raining. The kind of rain that pounded against windows and crumpled the sky. Which forced any and all living things into shelter to hide from the crashes of thunder and freezing raindrops.

Forced two particular individuals to curl up together on a couch in a blanket, a fire roaring in front of them, the only source of light in the room, the power having gone out hours ago. Neither of them seemed to mind this predicament, the taller of the two running his fingers absentmindedly through the long brown hair of his companion, who was in turn running his fingers in absentminded patterns over the former’s stomach.

Wales loved moments like this, when he was allowed to just spend time with England with no obligations or worries. A lack of power had shut down their ability to do any work, and thus they had taken the opportunity to just drink each other in, in the more innocent of senses.

He spent some time with his head on England’s chest, comparing the strong but gentle beats of London to the cracking of the thunder outside. He smiled at the thought that London was his too, had been for a long time, would be for a long time to come, and annoyed at himself as he may have been for enjoying the metaphor, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop the content smile which twisted at his lips.

After a while of listening to London along with the thrumming rain, Wales opened his eyes and gazed up at England himself, his glasses perched low on his nose as he read from a book of classic poetry. It was doubtless stupid and pretentious, but nonetheless, Wales couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Will you read something to me?”

England glanced down at him, a soft smile on his face, “Any requests?”

Wales took the hand which was carding through his hair and twisted their fingers together, humming thoughtfully. He was silent for a moment before he finally said, “Not really, something cliché and romantic.” Then added, “Woo me, Bunny.”

England chuckled, extracting his hand with a squeeze and flipping through the pages, “Cliché and romantic it is, my wolf.”

Wales smiled, shifting so he could better see England ash he cleared his throat to read.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…”

Wales didn’t really listen to the words of the poem, he listened to the way it was being said, the glints in England’s eyes as he said the words, let he feelings he portrayed wash over him and make him grin like a love-sick fool.

When England finished the poem, he barely had time to set the book down on his lap before Wales had reclaimed his hand to twist their fingers together, and leaned up on his knees to press their lips together.

The kiss was slow, building, started with soft pecks, which turned into lazy open-mouthed kisses, which turned into lazier presses of tongue. England’s free hand cupped Wales’ face, trailing back to run through his hair, twisting into the thick brown locks as he smiled against Wales’ lips.

They pulled away after a short time, and spent a moment staring into each other’s eyes. They didn’t get to do this often. Wales wished they did.

England hummed in contentment, “You enjoyed the poem then?”

Wales shook his head, “Didn’t hear a word, if I’m honest.”

England snorted out a laugh, and Wales hated how he thought it was endearing, but it was, “I’m so glad you can appreciate great literature.”

Wales grinned, squeezing their still tangled fingers, “You could have been reading your shopping list for all I care.”

England’s smile turned soft, and he was silent for a long moment, his hand which had remained in Wales’ hair traveling back to run over his cheek. “Wales?”

Wales hummed, leaning into the gentle touch of the hand and closing his eyes.

“Dance with me?”

Wales looked up in confusion, but at the look of pure affection on England’s face, he couldn’t do anything but nod his head and follow England up off the couch. England pulled him over in front of the fire, smiling as he pulled Wales in by the waist and leaned down a miniscule amount to press their foreheads together.

Wales smiled back, pressing up on his toes so they were the same height, letting go of England’s fingers so he could loop his arms around England’s neck, watching the flickering light of the fire play over England’s face as they started to dance.

It wasn’t really dancing, it was a gentle rhythm of steps which set them in a slow circle, swaying to the pounding of the rain against the window and the cracks of thunder above them. Wales found himself tucking his head into England’s shoulder, falling from his toes and glowing as he felt England press a kiss to the side of his head and tighten his arms around his waist.

“I love you, poppet.” England mumbled into Wales’ hair, and Wales almost had to laugh at how bashful he was after all these years. The warmth of fondness which spread through him at the words was better than that which any fireplace could provide him though, and then he felt the urge to laugh at himself for still feeling bubbly every time England told him he loved him.

“I love you too, Bunny.” He replied, with a light kiss to the skin of England’s neck.

They swayed like that in silence for a while, simply being close.

The rain continued to pound.

The thunder crashed.

But they were safe and sound inside their house, by the fire, curled up in each other and shifting slowly from side to side. Wales would give a lot for more moments like this, in between meetings and politics and meaningless bickering and so many other things which got in between them. He might not give everything, he couldn’t, a nation couldn’t, but he’d give as much as possible.

Part of him suspected he already had.

“Bunny?”

England looked at him, and they were both breathless.

“Kiss me.”

And England did, and if it was possible it took their breaths away even more.


End file.
